


A Conversation (part 3)

by Crunchy_Frog



Series: Trip A Little Lamplighter [3]
Category: Mary Poppins (Movies), Mary Poppins Returns - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 13:05:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17264753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crunchy_Frog/pseuds/Crunchy_Frog
Summary: Switching this one up! From Jane's POV!The time that this installment happens in is getting ever closer to when Mary Poppins shows up. About a year has passed between the last installment and this one.Also, though the ages of the children are never specified in the movies (considering I haven't read the books), it's estimated that Jane is about 11 years old, but it never says how old Michael is, so I'm just going to assume he's younger than Jane by two years. So, in accordance to that, I'm going to say that Jack is the same age as Jane.Enjoy!





	A Conversation (part 3)

**Author's Note:**

> Switching this one up! From Jane's POV!  
> The time that this installment happens in is getting ever closer to when Mary Poppins shows up. About a year has passed between the last installment and this one.  
> Also, though the ages of the children are never specified in the movies (considering I haven't read the books), it's estimated that Jane is about 11 years old, but it never says how old Michael is, so I'm just going to assume he's younger than Jane by two years. So, in accordance to that, I'm going to say that Jack is the same age as Jane.  
> Enjoy!

“There’s that little boy, again.” Winifred’s voice was soft and sweet, as she looked fondly down the street as the aforementioned child made his way slowly down the street, pacing between the lamp posts with a spring in his step. She drew the curtains back from the window, and cleared the window sill of toys, setting them on the floor. “Jane, come here.”

Jane peered up from where she was tidying her toy chest with Michael at her side, who was complaining as he went along, taking an unreasonable amount of time to do the job. She rose carefully, straightening out her sleeping gown and smoothing the lines on it with her small hands, before reaching up to check if her hair was laying _just_ right upon her head. A smile plastered itself onto her face, her little heart beginning to thrum with delight, until _Michael_ spoke out. 

“ _Ooh,_ ” Michael snickered as he leaped to the window sill, peeking out into the evening as he scooped up the toy pile into his arms. “It’s your _admirer_!” 

Jane turned to her younger brother, fixing him with a piercing glare. “Hush, Michael!"

“Now, now, children.” Winifred chided, though her countenance was still loving and made soft by the exchange - treacherous were those two, but she loved them even more because of it. “But, Jane, come quickly, you might miss him!” 

“I won’t.” Jane let a small grin spread over her cheeks, just as petals of pink bloomed in her face. “He always waits for _exactly_ seven minutes, so as to not miss me.” 

Michael made a fake retching sound at the sickly sweet voice of his sister, and opened his mouth to tease his sister more, but Winifred swept in and tucked her boy into bed, chastising him softly, pinching his cheeks. Jane sent her brother one more sharp look before grabbing a handful of ribbons and taking to her window. There she sat upon the window sill, fiddling with the latch, watching as Jack made his slow but steady approach to the house. Butterflies filled her stomach, her mind jittery. She always was a little nervous whenever he came now, especially since they had actually started speaking to one another: they had only held real conversation ten times, the first time being only a month and a half ago. Jane was scared that she would say something that would make him not want to hang around her house anymore - so far, she hadn't offended him, much to her surprise and delight. 

Finally, after a minute of following the bursts of light in the darkening street below, she spied him nearing the house, and a true grin split across her face. The boy’s face turned up to the window, where he spotted her waiting for him, and raised his arm high over his head, waving excitedly. She giggled and sent back a dainty wave. Jane pushed open the window, leaning carefully out of it just as Jack climbed his ladder and clung to the lamp post just outside her door. _Just to get a little closer..._

“Good evening, Jack!” She chirped. 

“Good evenin’ to ya, too, Jane.” Jack beamed up at her, and went to light the match he held in his hand, but it fizzed out. Jane watched, fascinated, as the boy frowned and stuck his tongue out in concentration, grabbing another match, trying it against the wood of the stick, but it went out before he could touch it to the head of the stick. This went on several more times, with Jack becoming more and more aggravated by the second, causing Jane to stifle laughter behind her hand. 

“Are you having troubles, Jack?” 

“Only a lil’!” He grumbled, furiously whipping one last match out of his pocket, sending it a strong glare before striking it against the stick with the faintest of shouts. It lit! Jack let out a laugh of relief, setting the lighting stick alight, and feeding it into the lamp. “I got it!” 

“Hooray!” Jane cheered for him, laughing as he did a small dance while closing the lamp. "You did it!" 

“Only problem -” Jack chuckled, stepping down the ladder by two rungs, leaning against the pole. “That was me las’ match.” Jane drew up her lips in thought, before smiling. “Lucky are you, then, to have run out of them at seventeen Cherry Tree Lane!” Jack frowned, opening his mouth to question what she meant, but she held up a finger. 

Swiftly, she picked herself up from the window sill and sped to the wardrobe where she and Michael kept all of their clothes. She stepped inside and reached up, trying to grasp the box of matches that were kept on the very top shelf - _just out of her reach._

“Mother!” Jane whined, turning to Winifred, who was singing quietly to Michael. Her head craned to look at her daughter, with her brow furrowing but a smile twitching over her lips. 

“Yes, dear?” She hummed, and came quickly to Jane’s side, turning her eyes to where her daughter’s hand was grappling. “What do you need matches for, Jane? Tell me you’re not going to try and use them on poor Katie-Nana again! You know how she hates your practical jokes.” 

“No, Mummy.” Jane made herself to appear as sincere as possible. “They’re for Jack. He’s run out of matches, and he can’t finish his job without them!” 

A sparkle of knowing twinkled in Winifred’s eyes, and she let out a chiming giggling. “Alright, then.” Winifred slipped the box into Jane’s hands, and turned her gently towards the window. “And, Jane?” 

“Yes, Mummy?” 

“Don’t keep Jack around for too long, tonight - you know how much your father dislikes keeping _them_ around for longer than necessary.” Winifred’s voice took on a hint of disdain: she loved her husband so very much, but she held a true dislike for her husband’s views on anyone who wasn’t alike himself. 

“Of course.” Jane nodded with understanding, and made quickly to the window, where Jack was still waiting, fiddling with his cap. She whistled to him, and his head jerked up, looking nearly startled by the interruption of the silence. “Here!” Jane held out the box of matches, and Jack stepped as close to the house as he dared, sending the window to the parlor a wary look, before she tossed them to him. With minimal fumbling, he caught the matches and tucked them away in his jacket pocket. 

“Fank you, kindly!" 

Jane nodded, taking a moment to scan the neighborhood before her. A slight frown knotted her brow, and she chewed her cheek in thought. _Something is missing... Someone!_ “Jack, where’s that older gentleman I always see you with?” 

“Oh!” Jack flipped his cap onto his head. “He’s off sweeping chimneys. 'Said it’s ‘bout time to get used to doin’ this job by myself.” He did his best impression of the chimney-sweep, contorting his high-pitched voice into a strange Cockney garble that made Jane laugh aloud. 

“I see. Well, it appears that you’re doing splendidly on your own!” Jane complimented, laughing softly when she watched him rub the back of his neck sheepishly in response. 

“Well, there’s really nuffin’ to it.” Jack shrugged and sighed, looking up to the sky, then down the road with a displeased look on his face. Taking up his stick, and tucking his ladder under his arm, he tipped the bill of his cap to her. “I ough’ to go now, sadly." 

Jane’s spirits lowered slightly, and she pouted. “Yes, I suppose you ought to. But, before you go,” She held out her handful of ribbons. “Which color ribbon would look good in my hair?” 

Jack chuckled a little before squinting his eyes, letting his focus switch between the ribbons, and the inquiring girl. This was something they often did - Jane would ask him if something looked nice on her, and he’d always oblige, because it made her happy, and because she _always looked nice._

“The light pink one. Pink is a flatterin' color on you.” 

Jane blushed a little, nodding and tucking away the other ribbons. “Well, thank you.” 

“No’ a problem!” He gave her a crooked grin. “Fank you for the matches!” 

“Of course!” She called giving him one last wave. “Goodnight, Jack. Sleep well!” 

“Goodnight, Jane. See ya tomorrow!” And with that, he set off, whistling a bright tune. Jane continued to watch him as he crossed the street, giggling when he jumped and clicked his heels together.  


With her heart just a little lighter, she shut the window and drew the curtains behind her. Winifred was still there, waiting on Jane’s bed, folding the covers back for her daughter. Jane climbed in, sitting under the blankets that Winifred lay over her lap. The mother bent down and kissed Jane’s forehead, before taking the girl’s locks in her hands, and beginning to work the hair into a tight braid, humming softly all the way. 

“Winifred!” George Banks’ voice hollered from the parlor, downstairs, breaking the peaceful mood in the room. 

“Yes, dear?” Winifred called back, a hint of exasperation tinting her voice. 

“Has that lamplighter finally left?” At the question - which was spoken with more than a little disdain - Jane’s eyes turned down, almost shamefully, and her cheeks glowed red in the lamplight. 

“Yes, love. He left a few minutes ago!” 

“Good! We needn’t that boy loitering outside our home. He’ll only bring trouble.” 

Winifred sighed, and cupped her daughter’s cheek, making Jane look into her eyes. Jane reluctantly turned her head with her mother’s hand, and let out her own displeased sigh, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Don’t worry, dear.” Winifred planted another kiss upon Jane’s brow. “There’s _nothing_ to be ashamed of. Not at all. You’re allowed to feel what you wish - no one can stop you.” 

“Papa can.” Jane mumbled. 

“No, love, he can’t. The secret is, is that we _make_ him think that he can, and that’s what keeps him happy,” Winifred winked, and Jane giggled. “But, truly, your father hasn’t a say in this. All I can say to you is just _be cautious_.” 

“Of course, Mummy.” Jane took her braided hair, and tied it with the pink ribbon, before she lay back in her bed. Winifred stroked Jane’s cheek sweetly, letting her eyes sweep over her face proudly. 

“My beautiful little girl…” Winifred cooed. “Sleep well.” 

“What, I don’t get called _‘beautiful’_ but Jane does?” Michael whined, but there was jest in his eyes, and he and Jane laughed aloud when Winifred reached to swat her son fondly. 

“You’re _beautiful_ too, Michael.” Winifred giggled, standing up and dimming the lamps in the room. “Rest well, my loves." 

“Love you, Mummy.” They both said in unison as she closed the door to the bedroom. 

The room was quiet for a moment, as the night settled over the London sky. Lights from the street crept in from between the shutter slats, and the sounds of horse-drawn carriages echoed from below. Jane kept a fond smile over her face, touching her warm cheeks and laughing quietly to herself as she replayed the visual of Jack struggling with the matches. _He’s rather cute, isn’t he?_

“You’re absolutely disgusting, you know.” Michael choked out from a throat full of laughter. 

“Would you be quiet, for once, _Michael?_ " 


End file.
